My night's gutbust was hearing what my uncle said to my mom when she said she knew it was hurting him immeasurably: "that's what love is."
At one point tonight, it was just me sitting on one side of Tim's mom's bed, and Tim's dad on the other. And he was holding her hand and talking to her, and then he started with the tears, but just a little. And he said -- to her -- "Oh, I'm sorry."
And I said, "Don't be sorry; you feel this way because you love her."
"I do," he said. "And she loves me."
"That is *never* something to be sorry for," I said.
Seriously, there's no Chinese restaurant in Cincy that delivers beef and broccoli after midnight, huh?
Probably, but I really do gotta go to bed. By the time beef appeared at my door, it would be close to 1 a.m.
Counts, doesn't it. More than anything else. I'm glad she has that. I'm glad they both do, as much as it hurts right now.
and then he started with the tears, but just a little. And he said -- to her -- "Oh, I'm sorry."
It's funny, I was talking to Emmett recently about the line in the song "1952 Black Lightning" where Red Molly comes down to see her husband, who's dying of a shotgun blast and the song goes, "And he smiled to see her cry." Because, you know -- you're worth tears.
And now, because it just showed up in my inbox and made me laugh my ASS off, I am going to reproduce in full the e-mail my brother just sent to me:
I got a Marvel Comics Secret Wars t-shirt today because I am awesome. And handsome. I also just won an auction on ebay for a 1929 Johnson Smith catalog (hard cover) with slipcase. And right now I am downloading "Roller Skating Classics." I pretty much rule. The Johnson Smith catalog is my birthday present to myself. I have wanted one for years but have never been able to justify buying the fucker. My perversions are far too nerdy to be afforded the word perversion.
Fine, I will go back to watching The Addams Family and sipping the bourbon that only cheapskates buy.
My brother makes me feel almost normal. And I say that in spite of the kink, the Batman, and the semi-colon obsession.
In fact, he has given me a new tagline.
Oh, Tep. And you say you aren't amazing.
I don't think it's hypocritical at all to pray the rosary. It's like solidarity, and caring and respect.
I wish I lived closer; I would bring you a roast beef sandwich!
David, I love your serial posts; all profound and eloquent...and then Steak on a Stick.
D is home safe and sleeping after a hard day to Philly from KC and back. M was very sad to see him go, and it's always so hard on D to say goodbye to M. I know he worries a lot about how this two households/two states thing is going to affect M; I told him that them staying together in the fucked-upness they had would have screwed M up WAY more than having two sets of parents and steps who love him and support him...and that no one escapes childhood and adolescence without getting whapped with the Fucked-up Shit Stick.
Poor guy. He's still sad.
At one point tonight, it was just me sitting on one side of Tim's mom's bed, and Tim's dad on the other. And he was holding her hand and talking to her, and then he started with the tears, but just a little. And he said -- to her -- "Oh, I'm sorry."
And I said, "Don't be sorry; you feel this way because you love her."
"I do," he said. "And she loves me."
"That is *never* something to be sorry for," I said.
Just repeating this because it is beautiful. And true, beyond true.
I have been thinking of you and the Boy, Teppy, through my clean all the things marathon. I assume the ~ma works even when my brain thinks reading and nodding is the same thing as posting.
